Quotes About Rebellion

What would rock and roll be without ambition, craziness, danger, and fun?

There will always be a rule. There will be people who break the rules. There will be consequences. We fundamentally think these things will be true for a time. The question becomes, What are the consequences? Who enforces the consequences? What are the worst consequences?

For a girl gone wrong, you can't beat the banks of the Wabash.

Five A.M., that's the best time, when the clicking of your heels on the sidewalk sounds illicit.

Hé ! Dieu, se j'eusse étudié Ou temps de ma jeunesse folle, Et à bonnes mÅ"urs dedié, J'eusse maison et couche molle. Mais quoi ? je fuyoië l'école, Comme fait le mauvais enfant. En écrivant cette parole, À peu que le cÅ"ur ne me fend.

Mistress Mary Quite Contrary

They're a pair of young Satans.

All that I do is right—for me. I make it so by doing it. Do you think that I am conquered by the laws that other women crouch and whine before, because they dare not break them, though they long to do so? I am my own law—and the law of some others.

She would never tell him and he could stay in his room and never get any fresh air and die if he liked!

Frances Hodgson Burnett

was looked at askance, and that in the bearing of each member of the group there was a defiance of the general opinion. Roxholm sat on his horse somewhat apart from this group watching it, his kinsman and

As Garibaldi says,] 'Sleep, my dear Chevalley, sleep, that is what Sicilians want, and they will always hate anyone who tries to wake them...

Daddy Jack and Fanny don't care what I do as long as I stay out of the kitchen. She looms over the stove, madly coating everything she cooks with cayenne pepper and several shakes of Tabasco.

If I cannot move heaven, I will raise hell (Virgil, Aeneid).

Pulling heads off Barbies, sticking them on the TV antenna and ruining the reception. But thats how witch babies are.

He said that black sheeps express everyone else's anger and pain. It's not that they have all the anger and pain-they're just the only ones who let it out. Then the other people don't have to.

Sometimes she wore Levi's with white-suede fringe sewn down the legs and a feathered Indian headdress, sometimes old fifties' taffeta dresses covered with poetry written in glitter, or dresses made of kids' sheets printed with pink piglets or Disney characters.

Same old boring boring story America can't stop telling itself. What is this sicko fascination? Every book and movie practically has to have a little, right? But why do you think all those runaways are on the streets tearing up their veins with junk and selling themselves so they can sleep in the gutter? What do you think the alternative was at home?

She wears a Val Surf T-shirt and boys' boxer shorts and she has a boy's phone number scrawled on her hand. Part of her wants to spit on it and rub it off, and part of her wishes it was written in huge numbers across her belly, his name in gang letters, like a tattoo.

Ella is much younger. Maybe thirty. I don't know. And you certainly can't tell from the way she dresses. Middle of winter she finds a way to show her belly button. And she's got four hundred of these little elastic bands that can only pass for a skirt if you never move your legs. Top that with this unbelievable iridescent red hair and you've got one hot seventeen-year-old. At least that's what she thinks.

It probably all boils down to three magic words: I don't care. And nobody can make me.

I wouldn't be caught dead bowling! Jessica shouted as she pushed back her chair and rushed out of the room.

Wayward, stubborn, contentious as he was, God loved him.

Off with their heads! the woman screamed. Off with their stinking, boring heads! Redd, The Looking Class Wars